PaintBall - Part I

Paint Ball ******* I meet new people all the time. I always engage them about their interests. I’m frequently surprised with their responses. I met Steve and Matt some months ago and in short conversation quickly realized that we had a lot of common interests. Their favorite activity is Paintball. Naturally I was invited to play. Half the fun of a new sport for me is gearing up. Off to the Paintball Store I went. My new gun, a Tippman 98 Custom Pro, described as “virtually indestructible” was not the low end of equipment, but as I found out on the field, there was considerable space between it and the top end. Semi-automatic weapons with names like “Ego” and “Ion” with embedded electronics and automatic feeders supplying 30 paintballs per second to a trigger happy warrior were there. My gun, an air tank, and a face mask that made me look like Skeletor were enough to get me started. It was a rainy day when I arrived in the boondocks of Hartwood with my new gear. It was clear that considerable effort had been put into this private paintball field. Steve and Matt and some others had been working with this two acre plot to create a space where they could hone the skills of their “Home Team”. A rough hewn fort at both the high side and the low side of the field became the castles from which warring teams could advance or protect. A variety of man-sized construction conduit lay in between. Black and corrugated – each piece had been strategically placed and modified for its new purposes each showing the now faint markings from previous mock battles. Enormous root balls from fallen trees, a rain swollen creek, and stacked logs at key intervals that allowed for a protected advance, retreat or ambush, the sloped field had all the makings to enable adventure. Steve was the leader of the team and the field. Despite his few words, he was clearly in command, everyone waited for him to give the word regarding what game, when it started and what happened next. Matt, faithful lieutenant and formidable paint baller himself would ensure that everyone complied. Tim, the man to see to get the hookup for almost anything, he brought the compressed air, had an endless supply of batteries for the higher end guns he was selling cases of paintballs, and even packs cigarettes to the camouflaged soldiers. Me, clearly a newbie, these guys made sure that despite my inexperience I had a good time. We chose teams using two different colored paintballs in a hat. 8 in each color were blindly chosen one by one by each of the 16 players. Based on the ball you were either labeled “Evil” (a brand of ball) or something that seemed considerably less significant. My favorite game was called “Hamburger Hill” where the ‘evil’ team was chosen to advance on the high side in an effort to take the fort, while the other team was given a prior opportunity to set up an ambush waiting for the most opportune time to strike. 3 hits and a player is out. The honor system and some very colorful paint are used to validate a player’s status. I can’t accurately describe the primal urges or the adrenaline rush that comes from knowing other humans are shooting at you. A shot to the mask got my attention, the splatter of paint crept through the mask onto my face. It helped only slightly to know that these balls of paint were not going to kill me. I had make an effort to keep a calm head. I was put out by two more hits of bright paint on the sole of my muddy boot. Apparently my enemy was an extremely accurate shot and I never even saw him. I ended the day muddy, wet, physically tired, bruised by paintball hits and thrilled at the thought of coming back.